


we're flying through hell (tasting absolution)

by paperfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood Addiction, Depowered Lucifer, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Scars, War, demon blood high Sam, thoughts of noncon (though the character stops himself from going through with it)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperfeathers/pseuds/paperfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Endverse with a twist. It’s been three years since Lucifer was dragged out of the Cage, but some wounds still remain open. Meanwhile, Sam needs him to win the war against Abaddon, but not more than he needs him for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're flying through hell (tasting absolution)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: War, canon-typical violence, thoughts of non-con (though the character stops himself from going through with it), PTSD, grief and mourning, scars, angst

The blood in Sam’s mouth tastes heavy and rich, the burn in his veins making up for the sulfur tang. He swallows, licks his lips. There’s blood around his mouth, on his hands, staining his clothes. Dean flinches when he sees him, and the other soldiers, human and angel alike, avert their gaze. All except for Lucifer. Ice blue eyes like knives piercing straight through him and Sam thinks how strange it is, that this has become a comfort.

Instinctively, he reaches for the pendant hidden under his shirt. Cold flaring deep through him as his fingers brush against it. Lucifer’s expression sharpens when he sees him, and he doesn't look away, not even when Sam drops his hand. 

They’re picking their way through the remains of Detroit. Weeks of fighting had gutted the place. Corpses littering streets that had been reduced to rubble, the buildings charred black. The scent of death wafts thickly through the air. Soon, those who had rested enough would attempt to bury the loved ones they lost. The rest would be piled into a mass grave and set alight .A perfect snapshot of Hell on Earth. Yet this battle had been a victory.  Abaddon had withdrawn her forces, the demons licking their wounds.

They find Tracy Bell’s body in an abandoned church. Syringe in hand, dried blood crusting the inside. The demon she cured had been torn to shreds, along with the angels guarding her. But she had succeeded where others had failed for five years. The gates of hell were permanently shut, landing a crippling blow to Abaddon’s forces. After four years of war, at last the tides were beginning to turn.

Lucifer lingers by the ashen remnants of his fallen brethren’s wings. His pale blue eyes distant, expression unreadable. Very different from the one he was wearing when Sam, Dean, and Castiel found him in an all-too familiar convent in Maryland. Weaponless, forced into Nick’s form with wings shorn off and his grace ripped out. He had been clutching at what was left of his older brother, the broken corpses of demons lying around him, their blood painting the walls. But the same pain’s there. It never goes away, even after three years of being forced into mortal flesh and bone and thrust into the middle of a war.

Armageddon had come and gone, but this didn’t mean that the world would never be broken.

Castiel stays behind in Detroit, along with two hundred of his angelic brethren to safeguard the city and its people. Lucifer does not go with them. Back at the camp, Sam heads straight into his cabin, brushing aside Dean’s concern. He feels the weight of Lucifer’s gaze the entire way. He rinses his mouth, splashes near-freezing water onto his face, but it does little to ease the heat deep inside the core of him, the scorching energy buzzing in his every cell. The taste of sulfur and rusted iron still in the back of his throat no matter how many times he gargles, and when he looks in the mirror he sees his eyes – he flips the mirror backwards so fast that he cracks it, and sinks to his knees on the cold concrete floor, shivering. Drops of sweat sliding down his back, and he’s  _burning._ Fire in his veins threatening to swallow him whole, the old blood hunger roaring in the pit of his stomach. Out of pure habit he clutches at his pendant. It burns cold, the bottled grace a counterpoint to the heat that threatens to engulf him. His thoughts latch onto ice-blue eyes and a quiet, steadying voice. Before he knows it he’s stumbling out of his cabin into the last safe place he knows.

He can hear the din of near-desperate revelry a short distance away, and there’s enough clarity left in his mind for him to avoid it. His feet point the way almost automatically, the grace around his throat growing colder and colder the closer he gets to its owner. Something eases in the frantic pool of his own emotions when he spots the abandoned chapel. His hands shake as he pushes the doors open.

The inside is dilapidated, derelict. Gaping holes in the roof let in the gentle light of the stars, and most of the pews as well as the weather-beaten cross had been used as kindling. A gutted testament to faith. But it was the closest thing to a sanctuary that Sam had.

Here there is no priest, no loving God, no one to absolve him of his sins. Only one fallen angel, standing in the center of the room. Waiting for him.

Sam’s on him in an instant. Raises a hand and it takes only one mental shove to pin Lucifer against the wall. Arms spread out like a crucifix, almost as if he were a sacrifice. Lucifer’s glaring at him, fury -and no small amount of alarm - making arousal curl deep and heavy inside of Sam.  Sam’s hands encircle his wrists, leaving stinging pink patches where the heat of him burns through Lucifer’s human skin. He covers Lucifer’s mouth with his, swallowing down the Devil’s protests. Rips open the buttons of his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of scars on Lucifer’s naked torso. Lucifer stifles a moan as Sam’s lips ghost a trail from his collarbone to his chest, cock a hard line against his. Hips jerking when Sam gives his left nipple a sharp bite. The demon blood burns through him, and he feels  _invincible._  He wants, he thirsts, he hungers. For blood or the body beneath him he doesn’t know. But Lucifer’s sharp hiss – and his grace burning a hole in his skin - draws him back to himself.

 “ _No.”_ Lucifer’s a wreck. Eyes hazy and mouth bruised and wet. Breathing harsh and sweat dripping down his chest and back.  But still he shakes his head. “No,” louder this time, but his eyes soften. “Not like this, Sam.”

Rage surges up in Sam at being denied. His fingers tighten on Lucifer’s shoulders, and the sickness in him whispers that it would be easy, so easy to take him right then and there. To watch his face as he rips him apart. But Lucifer’s eyes are steady on his. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, and slowly. Sam’s mind clears. Sick shame and horror welling up in his gut when he realizes what he had been about to do. Immediately he releases Lucifer from his bonds, hears a quiet gasp of relief once he lifts the pressure. His eyes slip shut, sudden exhaustion overtaking him. Lucifer’s hands come up his sides. He sways on his feet, and if it wasn’t been for Lucifer’s firm and steady hold on his hips he’s sure he would’ve collapsed onto his knees. “Easy there, Sam.” Lucifer’s voice is gentle, reassuring. Sam clings to it like a lifeline. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

Sam takes several calming breaths before he opens his eyes. “I’m sorry,” His throat feels raw, and his voice is hoarse. Lucifer merely nods, fingers tracing soothing patterns on Sam’s back.

They stay like that for a while. Sam burying his face in Lucifer’s hair, Lucifer just holding him. Slowly, he feels the freezing energy resting on his chest ebb to a cool pulse. Lucifer’s fingers ghost against it for a moment before they curl almost protectively around the back of his neck.

After a while, Sam’s hands hesitantly encircle Lucifer’s waist. Beneath his hands, Lucifer’s scars are raised, ugly welts marring the former archangel’s skin. Mortality ill-suits Lucifer’s reckless fury on the battlefield, and as a result his body’s scored with innumerable marks and gashes. He’s still immortal, he can’t be killed by ordinary means. But he can be injured, and badly. Cells constantly  knitting themselves together only to be torn apart anew. Sam remembers the first few months after they’d taken him in. It had been rough. Lucifer had been unused to his own vulnerability, heedless to everything but his own hatred and vengeance. Blind to everything but Michael’s broken wings scarring the convent floor. He tore demons apart with utter abandon, leaving Sam to stitch him back together afterwards.

He’d wondered why he even bothered, at the time. Lucifer would heal no matter what he did or didn’t do, and Sam owed him nothing. Dean had allowed him to keep him alive because he might be useful, and certainly his vendetta against Abaddon had proved so. But that didn’t explain the strange mantle of responsibility Sam had taken onto his shoulders. Lucifer had been all but feral when Sam took him in. His recklessness on the battlefield was nothing compared to the mess that was daily life. It was Sam who taught him about food and the importance of hygiene. Who woke him up when he was mired in nightmares. Who stopped fights between him and the other angels (and Dean) even before they started. It was Sam who sewed up and bandaged the wounds on Lucifer’s chest and back after every battle, who gave him a gun and trusted him enough to turn his back on him. Who dropped everything and held him close whenever the fury, despair, and guilt became too much and he started tearing at his mortal skin as if he could free himself from the pain it seemed to be made for. It was Sam’s voice that brought Lucifer out of the dark places in his mind, the tenuous thread that kept him from destroying himself and everything around him. 

Whenever Dean asked him why, bewildered and more than a little angry, he found no words. No reason at all for why he’s suddenly dedicated himself to the fallen angel that pulled them all down with him. Neither did he have any idea of what to expect from Lucifer himself. But whatever betrayal he’d been anticipating never came to pass.

Sam’s coaxed back into the present by Lucifer playing with the ends of his hair. Hands gentle on the back of Sam’s head, mouthing his name like a quiet prayer against his skin. Sam shivers, palms flat against the small of Lucifer’s back. Even as a mostly-human, Lucifer’s body temperature runs somewhat colder than normal, and right now it’s a balm to Sam’s overheated flesh. Sam closes his eyes, inhales. Takes it all in. The humid night air, the feel of Lucifer in his arms, the chill of his flesh sapping his excess heat, the hum of Lucifer’s bottled grace against his chest.

They stand together, not speaking a word, just breathing. But there’s nothing oppressive about the silence between them. It’s comforting, a rare moment of peace, and they relish it. The former archangel takes his weight easily as he waits for him to come down from his high.

Finally, Sam breaks the silence. “There’s something I have to talk to you about.” The expression on Lucifer’s face is serious, but his eyes remain soft. Sam hesitantly pulls away from him. His legs feel as if they’ve been turned to lead, exhaustion burning in his veins. Lucifer, taking note, pushes him gently towards the center of the chapel. Two sleeping bags are laid out on the floor, and Sam stumbles to them gratefully, not even bothering to get inside one. Lucifer sits down beside him, tangling their fingers together.

Through the torn open spaces in the roof Sam can see the stars wheeling along their slow, vast orbits. Burning through their designated eternities in the cold and barren halls of space. He wants nothing more than to close his eyes, give himself up to the oblivion of sleep. But his exhaustion won’t let him. His eyes stay open, muscles coiled tight as a spring, and if it weren’t for Lucifer’s hands carding through his hair he would burn out, cough up blood and ash and just disintegrate. He sighs. Feels Lucifer squeeze his hand gently. “Sam?”

Sam forces his screaming muscles up. “Dean’s planning an attack, three days from now at the most. He wants to take out Abaddon and their leadership while we still can, before they get a chance to regroup.”

“In three days?” Lucifer’s frowning. “Sam, that’s suicide. The demons put a massive dent on our numbers in Detroit, and we have no way of replenishing them. Not to mention those that remain are either injured or exhausted… An all-out charge will turn into little more than a bloodbath.”

“I know. That’s where you come in.” Sam takes Lucifer’s hands in his. His skin is cool, but it warms where the blood beats through his pulse. A light layer of sweat covers his forearms and the skin of his neck and chest, and his breath catches when Sam presses his lips against his knuckles. “Ten years ago, you made a promise to me. I need you to make another.” 

Lucifer’s silent for a long moment. “What would you ask of me, then?” Sam doesn’t answer with words. Instead he tugs him closer, covers his mouth with his own. This time there’s nothing forceful or furious about the kiss. It’s tender and coaxing, with an undercurrent of restrained, desperate hunger. Lucifer’s tongue flicking against Sam’s lips, and when Sam opens his mouth he feels like he’s drowning in the taste of him. The kiss only ends when they’re gasping for air, and even then neither move away. Sam rests his forehead against Lucifer’s. 

He’s lost count of how many nights they’ve spent together like this, skin against skin, exposing their raw, bloody selves to the only other person that could possibly understand. The first time had been painful, almost violent. Lucifer lost in his anger and grief, Sam in the utter blackness of despair. There had been nothing gentle, nothing kind about it. Sam absolutely merciless as he shoved himself inside Lucifer, his back and chest clawed bloody by Lucifer’s nails. His victory was short-lived as the crest of his orgasm, obliterating everything just for the moment before reality came crashing back down on their shoulders. Afterwards they lay side by side, Sam’s face turned away from Lucifer’s unblinking ice-blue gaze. But he was unable to avoid seeing his own pain, loneliness and regret, reflected in the cracked mirror that was Lucifer’s expression. 

He had been unable to keep his hands off him, just the same. They would return from one battle to fight another, forgetting the world breaking apart all around them by losing themselves in each other. With Lucifer, Sam never had to hold back, and often it would be him groaning in defeat beneath the former archangel just as often as he pinned him down by the wrists and fucked him hard and rough. It’s a release, beyond anything else. But somewhere along the way, things changed. He begins to _see_ Lucifer, to see beyond the wounded archangel thrashing against his humanity and determined to take the world down with him. Sam sees the stiff vulnerability of Lucifer’s bare back as Sam tends to his wounds, flinching every time the needle enters his skin. The way the tension flowed out of Lucifer’s shoulders whenever Sam brushed fingertips, then lips across the back of his neck. The way he was ferociously protective of his remaining siblings, even though most of them didn’t share the same sentiment. The way he and Dean would normally be happy to tear each other’s throats out, except for when a strategy had to be planned for either attack or escape. Then they would set aside their differences and work together, keeping their people safe. The way he was loved chocolate, and ironically hated apples. The way he rolled his eyes and snickered his way through reading the Bible. The way he would take a bullet for Sam without asking, even though it meant a painful two-hour surgery to get it out of his body. The way he kept Sam’s supply of demon blood full, and stayed close whenever he had to choke the stuff down. The way he entrusted Sam with his own grace, telling him to keep it safe.

It frightened him, at first. Tenderness was something he couldn’t allow himself to have, not after Jess and Amelia, and the fact that it was coming from Lucifer himself… But this was war, and everyone took all the comfort they could get. And Sam, watching Lucifer sleep curled beside him, could never bring himself to regret the trust he placed on him. It’s this trust that kept him going through two years of demons overrunning the earth, that kept him sane and human after being forced to drink demon blood just for a chance of survival. It’s also this trust that can help save what’s left of the world. Now or never. Sam doesn’t break eye contact even as he unclasps the chain from his neck.

In the dimness of the chapel Lucifer’s grace glows like a small star. There’s no mistaking the longing on Lucifer’s face when he reaches for it. Sam thinks of demon blood, of taint, of war and fire and a red woman laughing. Of Dean’s betrayal and Gadreel’s violation and the gates of Hell flung open wide to consume the world. Of the sudden sharp jolt and the awareness that something was horribly wrong the moment Lucifer and Michael were dragged screaming and mangled out of the Cage. Everything that brought them here. It only makes the weight of what he’s about to do even heavier. Lucifer reaches for the bottle, but he pauses just shy of curling his fingers around it.

“Do you remember when you gave me this?” Lucifer nods, his face tight.

It had been after a brutal, bloody fight with Belphegor, one of Abaddon’s most trusted. In the ensuing chaos Dean and Castiel had been knocked out, Sam all but unconscious when Lucifer landed the killing blow. Sick sulfur light and the taste of blood, the ashy terror gripping Sam’s throat when he saw Lucifer yank his grace free from the demon’s neck and twist open the lid.

“No,” he’d managed to croak out. Lucifer had paused, but Sam had been unable to read his expression before darkness swallowed him up. The next thing he knew he was in a hospital bed, Lucifer’s grace clasped in his hand, cold and small and heavy. Lucifer standing right beside him. “Keep it safe.” He’d told Sam.  And for two years afterwards, that was what Sam did.  

“I know what it must’ve taken you to trust me with this.” Sam’s voice is quiet.

“There aren’t enough of us to take all the demons out. There are less than a thousand angels left, hardly any human fighters experienced enough to take on Abaddon’s core group. Dean doesn’t want to risk – to waste – any more lives than necessary. That’s where you come in.”

“You’re giving me my grace back so I can fight her face to face. Fair enough.” Lucifer squares his shoulders, nothing but ice and steel in his gaze and the line of his spine. “I created her and her kind. It’s only fair that I be the one to destroy them. And after what she did to Michael, I’ve wanted to do nothing more than rip her to shreds.”

Sam nods. Lucifer cracks a small, mirthless smile. It fades, his expression turning pensive. “However, there’s the matter of my vessel. Three days may not be enough to acquire a new one.”

 “I know. That’s why I’m saying yes. I agree to become your vessel.”

If nothing else comes out of this, at least Sam has the satisfaction of seeing the Devil’s expression of complete disbelief.

“Sam-“

“I’ve already talked about it with Dean. It’s the only way.”

“Sam, you don’t know what you’re agreeing to. Not this time.” Lucifer’s agitated. Not quite angry, not yet. But the flash of furious protectiveness is there, along with something else Sam can’t (won’t) name.  

It only serves to frustrate Sam more. “Why not? You spent a year and a half convincing me to say yes. Now I’m giving you my consent, and you seriously don’t want it?”

“Sam… It’s more complicated than that.” Sam won’t have it. Anger flares up inside him, lends him strength. “So what? You’re going to wait until the demons wipe all of us out? Us humans, and your brothers too? Is that the only reason you stuck with us for –“

“ _Do not say that.”_ Lucifer actually  _hisses,_ gripping Sam’s forearms tight enough to bruise. “I don’t  _lie,_ Sam. I never have, not before my Fall, or during the Apocalypse. I’m not about to start now.”

“Do you honestly think so little of me that I would deliberately destroy what’s left of my family? Or yours? When I’ve broken and bled and healed just to go through it all over again for  _you._ Everything I’ve done to this point, I’ve done for you, and your brother, and your kind – “ He spits out the last word like a curse, but his grip gentles and so does his tone. “Do not make light of the sacrifices I have made. Michael’s death ought to convince you which side I’m on.”

“Then why won’t don’t you want me to say yes?” Sam keeps the challenge in his voice so that neither guilt nor tenderness seep through the cracks. “After all this time, after all that’s happened –“

“Because I’m  _wounded,_ Sam.” Lucifer runs a hand through his hair, frustration, anger, and pain rolling off of him. His eyes are so earnest and bleak that it hurts. “It’ll be nothing like before. And if you become my vessel, once I’m inside you – You’re going to feel  _everything._  Every single break, every single wound.There’ll be nowhere to hide from that sort of pain. I will not – cannot – let you go through that.”      

“You have to.” Sam’s voice is soft, but determined. “Lucifer, this has to end now, or it doesn’t end at all. And,” Sam laughs “I can deal with a little pain. I’ve only been in it for my entire life.”

Lucifer’s silent for a long moment. “Why do you have to keep sacrificing yourself?” There’s no heat in his words. Only a vast, profound sadness. 

“It’s what I have to do.” Sam’s smile is  broken around the edges. “Five years ago, I made a huge mistake. I have to set things right. But I can’t do this on my own.” He finishes softly. “Please, Lucifer. I need your help.”

“Sam,” Lucifer breathes out his name like something soft and infinitely precious. Sam doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him until he feels calloused hands on either side of his face. Blue eyes meet hazel, and Sam feels like he’s drowning in that cracked ice. But Lucifer holds him steady, cool skin warming against his. Not for the first time, Sam leans into and against him. Lucifer doesn’t speak, but Sam doesn’t mind the silence. His touch is comfort enough. 

His fingers loosen, the bottle slipping from his fingers to be lost in the folds of the sleeping bag. Neither of them pay it any attention.

Eventually, Lucifer’s touch grows more insistent. Ghosting over Sam’s back, the column of his neck, slipping beneath his shirt.  Sam feels the desperate urge for contact rising. Heat surging up in his core, and he feels Lucifer’s hands on his chest.  Gentle even as they push him down on his back.

It shouldn’t feel this easy, this natural to give up control like this. To the Devil, nonetheless. Under Lucifer’s gentle, reverent touch Sam relaxes, tension flowing out of him like a river. His hands settle on the small of Lucifer’s back. His skin is rough where it was torn and stitched together too many times. Lucifer stiffens slightly, but Sam remains gentle, after a few seconds he begins moving again.

“Do you know the reason – the real reason – I gave you my grace?” Lucifer’s voice is a low curl of heat against Sam’s throat. Sam exhales shakily, warmth pooling in his core. Lucifer’s solid weight should be suffocating, but it’s not. It’s the most comforting thing he’s ever known. Unconsciously his fingers dig into Lucifer’s hips, eliciting a soft gasp.

“I was so angry after you threw me – us- into the Cage.” Sam remembers little more than a haze of light tearing through him,  fury and despair that was not his twisting and shredding his soul. The memory makes him shiver. Lucifer brushes his lips against Sam’s,  a silent apology. “For a really long time, I only thought about cooling that anger. Through Michael, through you. I couldn’t – refused – to understand why you did it. Why you and your brother were able to save each other when my own family left me to rot.

“Everything changed when Death took you away. You were gone, and I was alone with Michael. Michael was half-mad, screaming for our Father when he wasn’t attacking me. Eventually he tired, and I was finally able to get a word edgewise. At first he wouldn’t listen, but eventually he gave in. It was the first time in millennia that we were able to  _talk._ And it made me wonder, would any of this have happened if we’d had this conversation from the very start? The entire time we were speaking, I was thinking of you. Of how you and your brother tried so hard to stop us, despite the fate foisted upon you. How you died and destroyed yourselves for each other, again and again.”

“But I couldn’t forgive him. Neither could he forgive me. We were together, but apart in a million unbridgeable ways.” Sam tugs Lucifer closer at that, feeling his shaky sigh against his collarbone.

“I was prepared for our imprisonment to be eternal. It’s not so bad down there when you’re not alone. And then –“ Sam feels a bitter smile twist Lucifer’s mouth. “Abaddon opened the Cage.”   

“Lucifer…” Lucifer lifts his head up. The look on his face so bleak that Sam has to press him even closer. Lucifer’s grief and despair is almost a physical weight, crushing him, leaving him at gravity’s mercy. It’s all Sam can do to hold on.

“The last words he ever told me were ‘I’m sorry.’” It’s barely a whisper now. He’s clutching at Sam hard enough to leave bruises, and Sam think he feels moisture trickle down his collarbone. But when Lucifer looks up, his eyes are dry, his voice composed. 

“You, of course, know what happened after. I slaughtered those abominations, but not before they ripped out my grace. I don’t know why Abaddon didn’t kill me when she had the chance, maybe it amused her to draw my suffering out further. The next thing I knew, demons were lying dead at my feet, and Michael was gone. I was out of the Cage at last, but I was alone.”

“I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. But then you came.” Lucifer strokes Sam’s cheek, the tenderness on his face almost too soft to bear. “You came. You cared for me. And what’s more, you forgave me.” He cradles Sam’s face. Kisses him on the forehead, and Sam thinks about blessings and benediction, what it means for a fallen angel to be absolved.

“You saved me, Sam.” Lucifer’s words are warm against Sam’s mouth. “You saved me. Reached deep into your heart and forgave me. What else could I do but pay you back the only way I knew how? Ten years ago I told you I wanted to give you everything. Now you have it. I’ve given you everything that’s left of me.”  

“Lucifer…” Words aren’t enough. Sam kisses him. Buries his hands into Lucifer’s coarse hair and just holds him. The kiss is fire and ice, passion and hunger let loose, as sharp and intense as holy fire licking at their flesh, their bones. Lucifer gasps into the kiss, and Sam only pulls away when his lungs feel like they’re about to burst. For a long moment they only look at each other. Sam knows Lucifer’s raw, broken vulnerability is mirrored just as sharply on his expression.

Lucifer straddles his waist. Breathing erratic, mouth red and wet. He shrugs off his shirt, half-soaked with sweat. Sam can see the rise and fall of his chest, the light tremble in his hands as he unbuckles Sam’s belt and pulls his pants down his hips, along with his underwear. Like this, he’s a mess, and it’s hard to believe that he was ever anything but human.  He’s going to miss this, Sam realizes. Feeling Lucifer come undone under his hands. It’s not right, feeling something so powerful break under his hold.  But he’ll be damned if this hasn’t become something he craved. Even more than the demon blood, he wants this vulnerability, this tenderness only Lucifer shows him. The terrible beauty of this broken angel, and as always, it never fails to leave him humbled, in awe.

Already they’re both hard,  and when Sam tugs Lucifer down for another kiss he can hear him gasp into his mouth as he grinds against him. Before Sam knows it he’s stripping off what’s left of Lucifer’s clothes. The night air making his completely naked form shiver until Sam wraps his arms around him.

“Beautiful,” he breathes out. The intensity of Lucifer’s gaze all but burns him at that, but Sam keeps his arms wrapped around Lucifer’s scarred back. After a quiet moment he pushes himself upright, tugs Sam’s shirt over his head. Now Sam’s as naked as he is, trusting and exposed to Lucifer’s hungry gaze. Calloused hands reverently run down his sides, tracing the curve and dip of muscles and scars.  

His lips follow suit, and Sam never believed that Lucifer would burn this hot as he gasps at the trail of kisses Lucifer makes down his chest, on his hip, along his inner thigh. Nipping sharply at the skin, and Sam has to clutch at the bedclothes when Lucifer’s tongue swipes the tip of his cock, already dripping. Feels the cry building in his throat when he takes him completely inside his mouth. And when Lucifer begins to suck, he isn’t at all ashamed to let it out.

Just when Sam feels himself tipping over the edge, Lucifer stops. Pulls away, the faint smirk dangling at the corners of his lips enough to make Sam snarl a frustrated curse. He kisses Sam, wet and obscene, letting Sam memorize the taste of himself mingling with Lucifer’s tongue. Feeling Lucifer’s cock grinding against his, and this only makes Sam kiss back all the more furiously , his hand snaking down to grasp it. This earns him a sharp shocked gasp into his mouth, and he doesn’t bother hiding the smirk when he begins to pump.  

Lucifer’s spine is a taut curve that tightens the more Sam jacks him off. His eyes flutter shut just for a moment, and when he opens them the pupils are so dilated they’ve all but swallowed up the pale blue irises. The weight of his cock heavy in Sam’s hand, and Sam’s almost worried that he’ll break in half with the pleasure he’s feeling. Eventually however, Lucifer grasps Sam’s wrist. “Enough,” hoarse and sharp in all the right ways. Sam drops his hand, pulls Lucifer down for another bruising kiss, their fingers tangling together.

Eventually, Lucifer pulls away, Sam shivering at the loss. Wordlessly he spreads his legs. Lucifer’s hand ghosts down, till it reaches his the curve of his ass. “Pass me the lube,” his voice sounding strangely dry, and Sam reaches back, almost scrabbling to get at the bottle of lotion just behind him. He hands it to Lucifer, fingertips brushing against his, hears the wet squelch of the bottle cap as Lucifer opens it. A few seconds later he feels Lucifer’s fingers, now covered liberally in lube, slip inside him. First one, then the other. Both times make Sam hiss in almost-discomfort. But Lucifer keeps at it, slow and gentle, stretching him carefully as can be. Adding more and more lubricant and when his fingers finally hit Sam’s prostrate – Sam doesn’t bother stifling his moan.

Lucifer pulls his fingers out, and Sam feels a brief sense of loss. But they’re soon replaced by the full weight of Lucifer’s cock. Lucifer enters him as carefully as he stretched him open, and it’s a while before he’s completely sheathed inside Sam. Sam’s shaking, trembling, clenching around him for a moment but he gradually relaxes. Lucifer resting his forehead against his, so open, so vulnerable that Sam has to kiss him. Deep and slow, as if he could wipe away the grief in those blue eyes. This is the best he’s ever felt, Lucifer inside him, completing him, and it’s not quite the same as ten years ago but this is the closest they’ve ever been. Two cracked halves of a broken whole, but together they ease the ache of each other’s wounds.

Lucifer begins to move against him, slow and gentle at first, but picking up speed with every stroke. Sam gasping whenever he feels Lucifer hit his prostate, and the awe on Lucifer’s face is enough to nearly  drive him to the edge, right then and there. But not yet, not yet, he wills himself. Lucifer’s body is flushed, sweat dripping off him, and his hands covering Sam’s wrists feel  _warm._ Heat rising between them, and the intensity of Lucifer’s gaze is enough to make him want to shut his eyes. But he doesn’t, and neither does Lucifer. And so Sam sees the exact moment Lucifer _breaks,_ the exact same second as him. It’s light and pure sensation, their cries mingling together, heat gushing between them and inside him, and Sam catches the sudden thought that this is the purest either of them have ever felt, in a long, long time.

Afterwards, they lie together, listening to their breaths even out. Lucifer’s still trembling, as he kisses Sam’s face over and over. After a few moments, he pulls out of Sam, rolling over beside him. But his eyes never leave Sam’s face, and Sam doesn’t let go of him, either.

After a while, however, Sam feels something digging into his skin. He reaches down, grabs it. The bottled grace gleams with its own tainted light, sharpening the shadows all around them. Sam feels his sweat cooling, sees dawn’s light eradicating the remaining stars in the sky. The weight of the world settling on the both of them again, but Lucifer takes the hand grasping onto his grace in his. Kissing the knuckles, holding on.

“Do you stand by me?” It’s barely a whisper in the morning air. Lucifer doesn’t smile, but his free arm snakes over Sam’s waist, tugging him closer. He kisses him, brief and soft.

“Yes.” A quiet promise murmured against Sam’s lips, as the dawn burns away the night with the promise of a new day.

_2 days later_

The others encircle them, angels and humans standing shoulder to shoulder. Over the years the distinction between them has gotten more and more blurry. It fills Sam with a strange sense of pride, to know how all of them have gotten this far.

Lucifer stands in front of him. Tall and proud, blue eyes sharp and determined. He doesn’t pay anyone else any attention, his eyes on Sam and Sam alone.

Sam kisses him one last time, memorizing the touch, taste, smell and feel of him before he steps back. He can hear someone yelling at the rest to close their eyes. But Sam keeps his on Lucifer’s, even as the former archangel crushes the bottle under his heel. One last look, and he’s consumed by white fire.

Light burning all around him, intense enough that Sam feels his eyes burning in their sockets. But he refuses to look away. Even as Lucifer’s old body crumbles into ash, blue eyes lit up from within, arms reaching out for Sam. Sam can hear screams of terror all around him, can see Dean yelling. But he doesn’t back down, doesn’t back away. And when the transformation’s complete, Sam thinks he sees a glimpse of a many-faced beast with proud, broken wings before the light consumes him.

It’s agony burning in every cell, in every atom, in every wavelength of his soul. Sam screams, but with the pain comes the wholeness he’d once felt ten years ago. Lucifer filling every cracked and broken space he never knew existed inside him, Dancing through his nerves, running hot and cold down his spine. Union. Completion. He can feel Lucifer’s exultation in his every molecule, and that gentle promise of safety even as he feels Lucifer’s wounds stretching and tearing.

He opens his eyes. Lucifer looks out of them, at the terrified faces of the crowd around them. His mouth opens, and Sam hears his voice and Lucifer’s intent pouring out. The familiar words make him grin, and it widens even further when he sees at first a ripple, then a wave of cheers cresting over the gathered crowd.

“We’ve got work to do.” The crowd  _screams,_ and Sam feels Lucifer wrap around his essence, his core. His own smile sharp and feral and determined as they gaze at their family and the battle that lies beyond. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: In case it wasn't clear: Lucifer gave Sam his grace because he couldn't use it at the time. In S5 Lucifer was drinking gallons of demon blood just to keep Nick from spontaneously combusting. In this setting, they're smack-dab in the middle of a war, and Lucifer has neither the time nor the resources for such "maintenance". So even if he could have found another vessel to contain him, he would just burn through them like tissue paper in a matter of days. At that point Sam didn't trust him yet, so he wouldn't have given him his consent. In essence Lucifer was hitting two birds with one stone: he gave it to Sam because he trusted him to keep it safe, and also because Lucifer wanted Sam to trust him. I hope it made sense!


End file.
